Weasley and Riddle
by a-taste-of-tea
Summary: Ginny Weasley travels back to give Tom Riddle a piece of her mind, but discovers that to conquer evil you don't have to kill.
1. Unexpected

_**A Life You Never Knew**_

_**Prologue**_

Harry Potter and his mother, Lily, had just escaped. An hour of idle chatter with the Dursleys was unbearable, so much that James Potter seemed to avoid it completely. Even now Harry was thirty-five, with small children of his own, the monthly visit to his mother's part of the family was still a usual for him; it was a compulsory part of his tight schedule.

Being an Auror for the Ministry of Magic, Harry was constantly on the go, and seeing his family was a rare and thankful opportunity nowadays. However, today's visit was cut short by a rather hasty and rushed letter from Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After seeing his mother safely reach her aging home in Godric's Hollow, he apparated to Hogsmeade, where he could walk up to the school. It was well known that you could not apparate inside Hogwarts. It was times like these that the ancient borders became such a pain in the hippogriff.

Harry smiled. It had been so long since his graduation of Hogwarts that he had begun to forget the spaced out halls and handy crevices. It was even handier when he had his father's map with him. _Ah, the Marauder's Map, _he thought blissfully. _Such a useful piece of parchment._

Fortunately, the Map wasn't needed to reach the headmaster's office, for he had been there many a time for pulling practical jokes with his best friend, Ron Weasley (with a little help from Ron's brothers, Fred and George, of course). When he reached the statue of the griffin, he pulled out the piece of parchment on which Albus Dumbledore had written his letter.

_Mr. H. Potter,_

_I am incredibly sorry for the lack of timing here, Harry, but there's neither a second nor spell to spare. You must hurry, as soon as you can, mind you, to my office at Hogwarts. There is someone important there to meet you. Yes, come now, if you can. Hurry._

_Prof. Dumbledore._

_P.S. I am particularly fond of Cadbury's chocolate._

"Cadbury's chocolate," chuckled Harry, as the statue moved to reveal a set of stairs. Albus' so called postal scripts were always a dead giveaway to his current office password.

The wearing stone steps made a crunching noise as they ascended, the sound of rock grinding on rock disturbing any tense atmosphere there could be, between angered rivals or mislead lovers.

The door at the top of the flight of stairs was open, and so Harry stepped inside. Sat at the desk in Dumbledore's office was an elderly woman, with warm yet alert brown eyes and grey hair in a loose bun. She wore an emerald robe with a diamond holding it together in the centre, and the way she held herself in the chair reminded Harry of someone, although he couldn't quite grasp who it was from the corner of his mind. The answer taunted him, like a rememberall stuck in a tree that a first year was unable to reach, like catching smoke with your bare hands. She was like someone he knew in a dream, _or a past life._

"Who are you?" he said bluntly, Albus sending him a warning look.

"Ginerva Riddle, H- Mr Potter," she replied sharply. "It would be nicer if you could drop that vulgar tone. It's quite unsettling."

For once in his life, Harry was stuck for words. There was something in Ginerva's eyes, a hope, a spark, a love, for all her knew, that made him think she knew more about him that she should. Everything, to an extent. Okay, maybe not what he had for breakfast and how many Wronskei Feints he'd pulled in his life, but all the little things; the way he bit his lip in thought; the way he tapped his phoenix feather wand on his leg impatiently; the way he laughed when someone honestly, truthfully made his day. There was definitely _something._ He just couldn't figure out _what._

Curtly, he nodded his head and sat down on the other chair at the mahogany desk, scooting it as further away from the sharp-minded woman without making his discomfort obvious.

"Ginerva has something of importance to give – and tell – us," started Dumbledore, obviously knowing the two would not talk to each other willingly after their cool exchange.

"Yes, I do, Albus, but are you sure this is the right boy? He is by no means Harry, Sir, look at him!"

"I believe whether he is like you once knew or not, he still deserves to know this. You owe him that much, Ginny." Ginny shifted in her seat, inwardly groaning. She missed Albus as headmaster, but she did _not_ miss his guilt tricks.

"Fine, Sir," she huffed, turning to Harry. "I'm the result of what happens when you mess with time. Don't give me that look! In _this_ life, you've had it damn perfect, Potter. The Harry I knew had been through so much. You're not nearly the Harry you could have been!"

"Ginerva," warned Albus.

"Sorry, Sir. Anyway, you had died a valiant battle, after almost destroying Lord Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, the most evil wizard of all time. He had won – evil had won. I was distraught, I was broken. So I used a spell that Professor McGonagall had made up, not that she knew I had it until I left, and by then, it was too late. The thing was, there was a chance I wouldn't exist in this world _ever _if I decided to not come back. Not as the person I was anyway.

"So I went. I wanted to come back originally. Determined to kill the Dark Lord when he was in his teens, I went back to the 1940s. Yet, somehow, those life ending words had never been able to slip through my mouth. And something unexpected happened. Something that you'd have to see to fully understand. Just remember this Harry. Whatever you see, about the past word, before I changed it, whatever you see about me; know that I wouldn't change it for the world. I lost everything, but everyone I loved gained something back."

Touching a frail finger to her forehead, Ginerva pulled out a silvery string of a memory, placing it in the pensieve that Albus had placed carefully on the table, pushing other papers to the side.

Harry plunged in, his bright green eyes wide with uncertainty, the defined black-rimmed glasses Ginny once loved no longer on his face.


	2. Lips

_**Lips**_

Ginerva Weasley tried to push her way through the hectic crowds. The students rushed past her towards the courtyard at astonishing speeds, not caring about the redhead who had lost her favourite brother – if you were even allowed favourite siblings – being carelessly shoved against the stone walls.

Being the quick-minded and observant person she was, Ginny had managed to figure out that her head of house, McGonagall, was working on something. What it was, Ginny had no idea. Though potentially problematic, the sixth year Gryffindor had used all her skills of deduction to bring the idea into her mind that, cleverly, the professor had made a spell that would make all their problems disappear. It was, of course, magic.

If she thought about it _logically_, it made perfect sense. How else would McGonagall alone be able to keep so much faith in the Golden Trio? Obviously, Ginny hoped (and was almost certain) that Harry, _the boy she loved_, would be able to defeat the Dark Lord, but a little niggling in the more pessimistic side of her brain was telling her that he wouldn't win.

_**He won't make it, Ginerva, **_it hissed, bugging her.

_Shut up; of course he will,_ she argued back.

The way it whispered in her ear when there was no one there, the way it changed her mood so impeccably, reminded Ginny of how Tom Riddle had been there, in her mind, for her first year at Hogwarts. The voice of distain distinctively similar to his made her jumpy and nervous, brown eyes darting around, looking for signs of him,Tom Riddle, her childhood nightmare.

Glancing around for any possible people watching her, etching the perfect plan in her brain, Ginny darted across the hall, and into the oak door that held entrance to Professor McGonagall's office. She looked around the barren room, bare if it were not for the uncomfortable chair, hazel desk and Gryffindor Quidditch banner. Her eyes were drawn back to the desk, complete with a drawer beneath it.

_Bingo._

Not at all hastily, Ginerva ripped open the drawers, throwing out anything that was not of importance; an old letter about a staff meeting; last year's Quidditch stats; an empty Chocolate Frog box. Then she spied an envelope entitled 'private' in McGonagall's perfected scripture. Eying it greedily, she tore open the envelope to see a single piece of parchment with the same cursive upon it.

Tempus Temporai? What was that?

Flipping the parchment over, she read the note on the other side. It was labelled as a time travel spell, that would take her to the time she needed most. Thinking it useful if she forgot to do the dishes after the war, she pocketed the parchment and slipped out the office, slightly disappointed with her findings.

The corridor outside was shockingly empty, so Ginny followed the path she had seen everyone take before. When she got to the Great Hall, there was no one around, a pregnant silence filling the air. Seeing a couple of heads outside the door that lead to Hogwarts' courtyard, she headed that way, shoving through the crowd until she could reach the familiar red hair that belonged to her father, standing at the front of the crowd, glaring into the distance. The thing that she saw next terrified her yet gave her a short burst of bravery, that she shoved aside for later, knowing that she would need it, for what approached, she was not prepared for.

A snake-like face with slits for a nose, and piercing, demonic red eyes lead the procession. His skin was like chalk, his mouth a pale pink and thin. Not a single emotion was let out on his poker face that dared to stare out the gathered survivors of the battle. Neville Longbottom's fist clenched when he saw the middle-aged woman with a mane of bedraggled black hair that skipped gleefully behind Voldemort – the snake man – a hope of revenge glinting in his young eyes.

Behind Voldemort and the very epitome of insanity, Bellatrix Lestrange, a half-breed giant bound by deep ivory ropes carried a hero, his black hair recognisable even as far away as Ginny was.

The group spread out across the courtyard, confining themselves behind an imaginary line, the only people allowed forwards of it being Voldemort himself and Hagrid, the giant who held his old friend in his arms.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.

"The battle is won. You have lost half your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle, now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live, and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

Ginny's mind fell into endless despair. _He can't be dead._

_**Oh, but he is, Ginerva, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.**_

_I thought I told you to shut up, you inherent fool!_

_**As long as he is alive, I will always be here.**_

But her battle with the voice in her head was interrupted by a cry from the crowd.

"NO!"

Twisting her neck, Ginny searched for the pained scream, her eyes landing on a stunned and horrified Minerva McGonagall. Her hands, trembling, fingered the parchment, crumpled up in her jean pocket. Then her eyes caught Harry. So weak, so lifeless, so cold. His glasses perfectly framing his face, even in death. His lips so pale, the form of a smile not even contemplated in his mind, unable. Lips that had once brushed against her own, lips that would never do so again.

"_Close your eyes," said Ginny, slowly coaxing the book from Harry's hands, placing it in a cupboard where he wouldn't think to look. "It's the place where everything is hidden."_

_She paused, approaching Harry once more. His eyes were still shut behind his glasses, not showing a single sign of peeking. Her heart beat at a thousand times per minute, any thought of Dean, or Seamus, or whoever she was currently dating to make Harry jealous, gone from her mind. This was her chance._

_Leaning forward, she placed her lips on his for a second. Only a second, but it was enough for her. She had to do that at least once. Even that one second was enough for her to savour the feeling of his lips in contact with her own, too surprised to kiss back, not ruining the moment._

"_I can stay hidden too, if you like," she spoke softly, the words forming like rose petals; light on her tongue and delicately threaded._

_Backing away, Ginny hid behind a pile of stacked chairs, as Harry's eyes fluttered open, not moving until he was out of sight._

Her slender hand slowly moved up to touch her lips at the memory, holding back tears that would have cried for her family, for Fred, for Hermione, for Harry, for anyone that had suffered in the war and in love, tears that would have cried for her as well.

"Harry Potter is dead!" shouted Voldemort once more, a smirk growing into a smile on his unprepossessing face. His repugnant voice spoke an abominating string of words on his tongue, heartless and soul-gone: "He is dead, and I am not! It is clear who won the war!"

"Damn you and your war, Riddle!" McGonagall stepped forth of her side and held her wand in front of her.

"You dare? Who will pay the price for your actions?" Voldemort paused, glaring around for an unfortunate soul. His eyes landed on Ginny.

Hermione cried out aloud.

Through her panicked tears, Ginny stepped beside McGonagall, a hand in front of her, like a shield. She could hear her mother's protests, desperate not to lose another child.

"_Sectumsempra!" _Ginny casted the spell at Voldemort, seeing it slice down his front and his back, bloody seeping through his robes. Cursing under her breath, she turned and ran back into the midst of the crowd that had already charged at the Death Eaters, who were charging back.

Dark and light collided in a fit of spells and hexes, yells of defiance and cries of pain. Everyone but Ginny were fighting in battles to the death, their lives on the line.

Because what did it matter anymore? Harry Potter was _dead._ There was nothing else to live for.

Yet, subconsciously touching the parchment in her pocket, Ginny dawned on realisation.

_Tempus Temparai. The answer to all their problems. _

Surely all she would have to do was go back in time to when Tom Riddle was at school, and _kill him then. _Then there would be no Voldemort. No Tom Riddle to become the Dark Lord he was known as today, terrifying people all over the country.

"Tempus Temporai!"

And in a flash and whirlwind of time, the youngest of seven - now six – disappeared, landing on her bum in the middle of a courtyard, empty, except for a boy around Harry's age.

He had slightly curly yet straight hair that perfectly sat on his head, enviably not styled, in a deep brown-black colour. His eyes darted from side to side of the book he was reading, a nice, think volume that Hermione would class as 'light reading', scolding Harry and Ron with a, "Don't you two ever read?" when they questioned her judgement on books. He wore a blazer that seemed in a rather coarse and stiff material, in grey, with the Slytherin crest on it to match his green tie. His trousers were the same grey and the same un-cordial texture of the blazer, complimented by a white school shirt.

As Ginny stood up, brushing the dirt from her jeans and pink cardigan, she grabbed her wand from on the floor, still staring at the Slytherin boy who hadn't noticed her arrival.

_Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear,_ thought Ginny bitterly, as the boy looked up and saw her staring.

Despite the plain embarrassment, Ginny could not tear her eyes away from the boy. His unfriendly dark eyes looked through her questioningly, Ginny still standing their awestruck.

She was staring into the perfectly unflawed face of Tom Riddle.


	3. Voices

_**Voices**_

A cool breeze whistled through the air, several autumn leaves sweeping through the courtyard. Ginny gave an involuntary shiver as it whipped past her, goose bumps forming on her near-perfect skin.

"Are you going to just stand there like a moronic idiot?" insulted Tom.

"No!" Ginny blurted back, her hands immediately flying to her hips, an impulse after a year of being treated like an animal by Alecto Carrow.

"Perhaps you'd prefer to do this the easy way and brace me with the wonderful information that's your name?" Tom smirked, an elegant eyebrow as dark as his hair raised questioningly.

Pausing rather noticeably for a second, Ginny racked her brains. Merlin's beard: she couldn't use the surname Weasley! _Maybe something muggle? Yes, that'd do, _she thought.

"Ginerva Conwy," said Ginny, remembering the Welsh city she had visited as a child. She nervously bit her lip, waiting for Tom's approval. Rather rudely, in Ginny's opinion, he merely stood there, looking over her, as if searching for a single fault he could pick up and use it to his advantage. Coldly, she shot, "And you are?"

"Tom Riddle, and the Head Boy," Ginny noticed the gleaming Head Boy badge that sparkled on his blazer, spotless; not a single speck of dust dared touch the perfection of it. Now he was standing, Ginny noticed how scientifically correct he was, in speech, and in physicality. In fact, she could hardly believe how straight he stood, his shoulders held back and his hands carrying his book behind his back.

"Well, I suppose you would be able to tell me where the headmaster's office is, then," she scowled, fiddling lightly with the button on her cardigan.

"I suppose I shall, if you insist on being so vexatious."

_What does vexatious mean? _Ginny inwardly groaned. _What am I? A bloody dictionary?_

_**If you paid more attention-**_

_Oh, don't you start!_

Ginny's fists clenched at her side, bitten nails digging into her delicate palms. This voice was so taunting and unbearable: she often wondered how she could get rid of it, other than the obvious death option. Of course, she had to kill Tom Riddle before she thought of such stupid thoughts.

_Tom Riddle._

Tom Riddle, the very same, irritating, outspoken, ostentatious teenager that stood before her right now.

"If you follow me, Conwy, then I'll show you to Professor Dippet's office," said Tom calculatedly, thus turning sharply on his heels and stalking off, in sweeping, purposeful strides.

Walking through the entrance hall, it looked unlike it had when she had left. For one thing, the statues of knights high up the walls stood still in their rightful places, weapons intact. No rocky rubble littered the stone floors, and the burning debris that Ginny had seen only ten minutes ago was nowhere to be seen. It, instead, was full of chatting students wearing similar uniforms to Tom's, all smiling and laughing as if it was the happiest time on Earth.

_They don't know what it's like to lose anyone they love, _Ginny reasoned with herself upon seeing the joyous atmosphere.

As he turned round to check if Ginny was, indeed, hot on his tail, Tom chuckled, "What _are_ you wearing, Conwy? Get it from your orphanage?"

Fuming, Ginny retorted, "Where did you get your foul attitude, Riddle? From your dirty muggle father?"

Abruptly, Tom pulled her aside, pinning her to one of the cold stone walls. "Don't you ever mention my father again! If you do, I promise you that you will suffer the consequences dearly, Conwy! Do you understand?" Ginny froze. "I said, Conwy, _do you understand?_"

"Y-yes," she stuttered, feeling Tom's warm breath on her throat. He released his grip, letting Ginny fall to the ground.

"Hurry up!" he barked.

Panting desperately, trying to regain her breath, Ginny pushed herself off the ground. Her heart was pounding at a thousand times per minute, the look of terror embodied in the wide, dark orbs of her irises. She rubbed her upper arms, knowing for sure that if she removed her cardigan, she would see large purple bruises in the shape of a hand from the roughness of how Tom had held her up.

Ginny stayed behind Tom as they walked, her lioness bravery left by the stone wall. She struggled to pace her breath so that she was able to keep up, letting in oxygen thankfully when they reached the all-too-familiar griffin statue.

"Dementor," said Tom, to the statue, as it began to turn. The sound of grinding stone was not as blunt as it had been in 1997 and 1998, but the tense sound was a comfort to her, a portal of the past that was the same no matter what time she was in.

The wooden door with its brass knocker was the same as ever, a distinct noise escaping it as Tom used it to knock on the door. A muffled voice called, "Come in!" and they entered the office.

It was so incredibly unlike Albus Dumbledore's that Ginny wanted to vomit all over the perfectly neat desk and stony floor. She wanted to switch the artwork for bookshelves and artefacts, remove the antiqued globe and replace it with a pensieve, making what was now Dippet's into the cordial office she remembered.

"Ah, Tom!" greeted an elderly voice, coming from the slightly croaky throat of the old man sitting in the chair that Ginny would have expected Dumbledore to be sat in. He had flaming red hair, with grey eyes, and a small velvet beanie on his head. His robes were a royal blue, and the professor had a rather hooked nose that could have been the same as Snape's.

"Good afternoon, Professor Dippet, it's a pleasure," smiled Tom, courteously bowing slightly.

"No, no, Tom, the pleasure is mine," the uptight looking man replied. "Who's this young lady?"

Ginny stifled a scoff, earning a peculiar look from Dippet and a frustrated one from Riddle.

"This is Ginerva Conwy. I found her in the courtyard, and she requested to see you, Sir."

"I see. Miss Conwy, what brings you here?"

_Damn, I need a cover story! Think, Ginny, think!_

"Well, _Professor_, I was homeschooled by my grandmother in Wales. However, dear old Granny Julianne passed away not long ago. My immediate thought was to finish my education in your grand school," lied Ginny, hiding the smug smirk she would have loved to flash at Tom Riddle.

_And he thought he had a slick tongue._

"Do you have any school books?" questioned Dippet.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I'm afraid I ran into some, er, _trouble _of sorts along the way. My books and stationery was stolen. I only have my wand and the clothes I wear now," replied Ginny cautiously, congratulating herself on her grade A lie.

"Oh, I'm sure the Hogwarts fund can suffice for clothes and school equipment," smiled Professor Dippet. Ginny only grimaced, fooling the headmaster as a genuine smile. "Well, we best get you sorted, Miss Conwy. Tom, pass me the Sorting Hat, will you?"

A look of sheer inconvenience and laziness appeared on Tom's face as he reached on his toes for the hat. Turning back to Ginny and Dippet, he forced a pleasant smile, passing over the hat.

Dippet placed the Sorting Hat on Ginny's head, the hat seemingly stretching after a week's nap. Flexing its mouth muscles - metaphorically, of course – the Hat groaned.

"Honestly, headmaster, I was having a nice, long nap until you woke me up! Never mind, never mind. Now.

"Miss 'Conway', hmm? Well, if you insist. A good mind. You're very aware of your surroundings, missy, I'll give you that. A brave spark, yes, but a coward when approached unknowingly. You want to prove yourself, Ginerva, and you would die to show you're not the runt of the litter, oh, I know. Oh, dear Merlin, you'd be a tough little pumpkin when someone's being vexatious-"

_What is it with that damn word?_

"-But where to put you? Oh, this is difficult. I know... _SLYTHERIN!_"

She was shocked. Her – a Weasley! – in Slytherin? She could feel the blood rushing to her head, leaving her fingers and toes numb. Suddenly, everything went dark as night and all she could hear was the voice in her head.

_**I'm proud, Ginerva, very proud. I knew you had more to you than a pipsqueak of a Gryffindor.**_

_Go away!_

_**I'll never leave you, Ginerva.**_

_Yes you will, just leave me alone!_

_**Never... **_The voice came down to just a mere whisper in her mind. _**You are mine, Ginny Weasley...**_

Ginny clutched her head, knees to her chest, murmuring to herself. When she came around, the headmaster and Tom Riddle looked down at her worriedly. Looking briefly around the room, Dippet opened his mouth to speak.

"Mr Riddle, please escort Miss Conwy to the Slytherin common room. I think she would prefer it you don't speak of this incident to anyone."

With Ginny still utterly speechless, Tom grabbed her forearm and lead her from the room, thinking to himself. _**She's not who she says she is. And I am determined to find out.**_


	4. War

_**War**_

Arriving at the Slytherin common room, Ginny felt rather odd. Besides from the unusual – to her – decor of emerald and silver, she had never considered luxury to feel like _home_. Shaking it off, Ginny turned to Riddle, asking, "Where's the girl's dormitory?"

Tom wasn't facing her, but rather stood angrily in the other direction. _Stop brooding, _Ginny thought to herself. _I'm not actually that bad._

"It's the one on your right, Miss Conwy," he muttered. "Do be careful not to trip down the stairs."

The walls were made of stone, much like her old common room, but instead of feeling like warmth and smelling like an open fire and her mother's homemade soups, they felt like the Black Lake, murky and damp; holding her hands on the stone felt like brushing her fingertips atop cool ice. The first dormitory down the corridor stated _'First Years' _on the black patent wood. Logically working her way down the corridor, she spied the sixth year door, and sighed.

_Home sweet home._

Two girls sat on the middle bed with a large book shared between them. As the door slammed, their heads snapped up as quick as a cannonball. One, two, three, four, Ginny counted the silent seconds that passed, eyes unblinking and lungs not breathing. The girl on the left began to let a grin slip onto her face, standing up and shaking hands with Ginny.

"Faulkner, Hannah Faulkner," she smiled. Ginny couldn't help but silently giggle to herself at Hannah's unruly blonde hair that bounced and curled in all directions around her heart-shaped face. "This is Cora Smith."

Ginny decided that Hannah was positively friendly. Cora, however, seemed a little solemn.

"I'm Ginny Conway," she introduced herself. "I'm a new student," she rushed. "Family death, no other living relatives, so now I'm here."

Cora leaped off the bed and out the room, her short red hair bouncing as she ran out, Ginny's eyes watching her curiously.

"Is she-"

"She's fine," interrupted Hannah, "or, at least, she will be... Oh, and one of the house elves left you that trunk, over there." She pointed over to the furthest bed.

"Thanks," mumbled Ginny in return, heaving the suitcase on to the given bed and opening the fastenings.

Inside the trunk was a number of plain pinafore type garments that would go to Ginny's knees, with white shirts, a green and silver tie and a black robe emblazoned with the Slytherin crest. Also included with her little bundle of gifts from Headmaster Dippet were a few pairs of grey stockings and a pair of soot coloured Mary-Janes. However, the headmaster had kindly put in a few other garments such as undergarments and clothes to wear outside of lessons, like a number of jerseys, blouses and pencil skirts, with tights and a pair of brown oxford brogues.

Flopping down on her newly acclaimed bed with the grace of a pigeon, Ginny turned to Hannah.

"What's the date?" she asked incredulously.

Hannah gave her a weird look, but answered, "November 7th 1943. Just gone past lunch."

"Okay, thanks," Ginny mumbled. She was forty-two years before she was born. She felt her stomach quiver.

"Well, I'm off to talk to the Hufflepuffs," sighed Hannah, giving Ginny a small wave as she closed the door behind her, leaving Ginny to her thoughts.

The dorm room was quite comfortable; the mattress on her bed sunk beneath her form and the blankets were soft like feathers to the touch. The far side of the room had a few hazy photographs stuck on the wall of the two girls she had just met, and various other students in the Hogwarts uniform that Ginny had never met. Studying them, one photo caught her eye – of a rather exasperated looking Tom, who glared at the camera with distaste. The time-traveller giggled inaudibly.

_**Enjoying the view, Ginerva?**_

Her giggles ceased; "_Stop it now!" _she yelled at the voice in her head.

Suddenly in a foul mood, Ginny grabbed some of the 'new' clothes Dippet had the house elves bring her, and stepped into the bathroom. The bathtub was rather new, not worn at all, but it was a clear downgrade to what Ginny was used to. Once the tub had filled, Ginny let her clothes fall to the floor and she put a foot in the warm water. After washing, she let herself fall beneath the water, the water encasing her body like a cocoon.

Before the Wizarding War, Ginny never often visited the library. She detested it. The smell of old books reminded her of the diary and she daren't think about that again, otherwise she might scream. However, Ginny didn't have much at all to do, and so her brogue clad feet brought her to Hermione's haven.

One section of the library, she discovered, held a small amount of muggle tales. One in particular looked rather intriguing, and so she picked it up and read the title.

"_Grimm's Fairytales_..."

The cover was old and the top of the pages were picking up dust like Ginny's past. She skimmed through the pages and, my word, weren't the illustrations gorgeous too, even more so than the words and the feel of them being said in her mind.

"Enjoying that?" an ominous voice stirred from her side.

Ginny slammed the book shut, coming nose to chin with Tom Riddle.

_Why'd he have to be so goddamn tall?_

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth.

He snatched the book from her hands, opening it for a second then closing it in dismissal. "It's a muggle's book," he stated.

Rolling her eyes, Ginny swiftly took the book back. It was cold from Tom's touch, but she let her warm skin take it back.

"Yes," she grinded her words once more, "I know."

As Ginny stalked towards the librarian's desk, Tom followed her quickly, his long legs pacing to walk with her. He put on a snotty face, looking down as he spoke.

"I wasn't aware you were of muggle descent."

"I'm not, I'm a pureblood," she sighed softly. _He_, however, picked it up.

"You say it as if it's a bad thing," he mused, running a hand through his hair.

"It is," Ginny replied, as the librarian handed her back the book.

Tom did not follow her when she left.

For once, he was absolutely confounded. Nearly everyone was proud of being of a good family, and she seemed... _troubled_ by it. It didn't make sense. There was something there, something about her that didn't seem quite right and it was taunting him from head to toe like a potion he couldn't get perfect. If she was a book, the middle page was missing; every important piece of information he wanted to know was untouchable. And Tom didn't like not knowing.

Meanwhile, Ginny paced the corridors looking for a decent place to read. No, no – the dormitory or the common room wouldn't do. Too distracting. It had to be somewhere she knew, somewhere she wouldn't want to talk and ask questions about.

It was this way that Ginny found herself in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Myrtle shrieked and yelled when Ginny walked in, but all the Slytherin had to do was throw the book at Myrtle's head for her to shut up. She floated back to her toilet and sobbed silently.

The bathroom grew darker as evening veiled over the castle. Ginny had left her wand in the dorm, so she couldn't read by the Lumos charm. Cora was walking down the corridor as Ginny walked out.

Joining Cora's side, Ginny gave her a soft smile. They walked in solitude for a moment, until Cora passed the comment, "I'm sorry for running out earlier. It was rude."

"It's fine, Cora. Honestly-"

"It's just," the more reserved of the two began, "my muggle father is – was – in the war, fighting on the front line for the Jews and a few other opposed groups. It isn't your fault, I shouldn't have fled. He was killed last week. I only got the news by owl yesterday, but Mother won't let me go home in case the Germans bomb Coventry again. It's where I'm from, see. You mentioned death, and I kind of... mentally collapsed."

Ginny noticed Cora's eyes tearing up and hugged her tightly.

"Hey, hey, hey," she soothed. "It'll be okay, Cora, I promise."

Ginny didn't know much about muggle wars, but she knew about wizarding ones. Whatever the fight, losing a loved one to a war was heartbreaking. Her mind drifted to Fred, but she pictured him laughing with Dumbledore on a silly sort of cloud, and had an idea.

"Imagine your father in an imaginary place, or a place he loved," she whispered. "Then imagine being there with him. Everything," she repeated Luna's advice, "has a way of coming back to us... in the end."

Smiling sadly, Cora muttered, "I think I'll skip dinner," and headed in the direction of the Slytherin common room. Ginny made her way to the Great Hall.

Images of the dead and injured couldn't help but make their way into Ginny's mind as she walked in the doors. She could imagine Remus and Tonks, and Lavender Brown. Colin Creevey's smile and camera made its way into her head as she saw a first year gobbling down his food. Once Ginny sat down at her house's table, a figure with bouncy hair slid onto the bench beside her – Hannah.

"Where's Cora?" she mumbled, taking a bite of a chicken wing.

"Common room." Hannah nodded to Ginny's response.

As the two helped themselves to pudding, Hannah had an excited look on her face.

"Are you good at Quidditch?" she asked, eyes bright and giddy.

Giving her new friend a questioning look, Ginny looked humbled before saying, "I'm okay."

"It's just... we're missing a chaser."

Ginny couldn't have been any happier.


	5. Amateur

_**Amateur**_

Today was the day.

"Good morning, Hannah," grinned Ginny, grabbing a piece of perfect toast and spreading some butter on it. Hannah had just sat down.

"Hey, Conwy," she smiled. "Are you all set for your try-out? We have to beat Ravenclaw this year – they've got Alexander Clearwater on their team _again_."

Following Hannah's gaze, Ginny's eyes found a tall, athletic figure standing at the eagle's table wearing a blue sweater and Quidditch gear. He had slightly messy brown hair and eyes like cocoa, all warm like fires in her old common room. Alexander's deep laugh rung through the room as a girl he had his arm slung round told a joke the Slytherin's couldn't hear.

"He's a bit of a dreamboat, isn't he, Ginny?" Hannah giggled as Ginny's head snapped back to glare at her.

"He hasn't seen me fly yet; he doesn't even know I exist," the redhead said smugly. "Let's keep it that way until noon." She eyed him once more, before grabbing a final piece of toast and dragging Hannah from the hall.

The November air was cold on Ginny's face, but she was used to it, and enjoyed it with the smell of nature and damp grass. A couple of owls flew past, reminded the Weasley of Errol a small bit, resulting in a small chuckle under her breath. There was nothing like winter Quidditch. The furs still had their leaves and the grass was frosty, a few shades greener than the icy white markings of the Quidditch pitch. Ginny's grip on the broom tightened as she mounted it and kicked off, soaring higher and higher into the cloudy sky. It had been a while since she'd felt the wind in her hair and felt the adrenaline rush of the game, but Ginny was no amateur and knew exactly what she had to do.

Hannah passed her the quaffle and away they went, practising throwing and catching until they reached the goalposts, where Hannah darted to guard them – to no prevail, as Ginny had managed to score a goal with minimal effort.

"Good job, Gin, that was brilliant!" Hannah praised. "We'll do that again until the rest of the team gets here."

When the five others arrived, Ginny was introduced to the team – Abraxas Malfoy, keeper, Michael Avery, chaser, Prospero Lestrange, beater, and a couple of others Ginny couldn't remember the name of. Hannah was the last chaser, with Ginny obviously hoping to be the new addition.

"Thanks for starting us off, Faulkner," began Malfoy. "You must be Ginny Conwy. I'm Slytherin's captain, Abraxas. Right, we're going to start your trial by splitting into two small teams. I'll watch, Michael, Hannah and Ginny, you can go on your team, Michael you keep. Prospero, you can go with John and Hans, keeping also. I presume you all know the rules well enough."

By the end of the match, Lestrange's team had not-so-humbly lost, with him declaring beginner's luck on Ginny's behalf. Nevertheless, Ginny had done extremely well.

"Well done, Conwy," congratulated Malfoy. "You made the team! Practise is on Thursday evenings from seven until nine, so expect to wrap up warm. We'll have you some kit by practise, too, so no problems there. You'll be expected to get yourself a broom by the New Year. The school ones just don't cut it."

"Thank you, Malfoy!" Ginny grinned, linking arms with Hannah. "I look forward-"

_What was he doing here?_

In the stands, Tom Riddle sat staring intently her way with a curious expression. _Damn him! _Ginny would be having a very loud argument with him later; fuming, Ginny said, "Excuse me, I need to have a word with someone."

Leaving the pitch, she sent Riddle a glare. He got up to leave, and she met him by the Forbidden Forest.

"What's wrong with you, Conwy?" he smirked.

"You, actually. Why were you watching my tryout?"

"Curiosity." His stance was relaxed, a hand in his pocket and amused expression on his face. "Can't I watch tryouts for my own house Quidditch team?"

Blowing a puff of air from her mouth, Ginny's brow furrowed as her stance stiffened.

"I- Well-"

"Bad luck, Conwy. Maybe another time."

Ginny replied, "I'm off to the common room, Riddle. Goodbye."

As she reached the front doors of the castle, she heard steps behind her. _Damn Riddle, again._He walked in large strides towards her, with his lanky figure, smiling effortlessly. Stopping in her steps, she allowed him to open the door for her with a vexed eye.

"I forgot to ask, by the way," Tom started, "Are you enjoying your book?"

"Yes, thank you," Ginny stepped inside, "I am."

"That's good," he responded, but Ginny had already started hurrying to her dorm.

_**You should give him the time of day, Weasley. **_

_As if. _

The Slytherin Common Room was beginning to feel a little better than it would have done a year ago for Ginny, and reading a book was actually a pleasurable experience. Reaching the last page, Ginny sighed, closing the book of muggle fairytales.

"All done," she said, turning to Hannah.

"Any good?" asked her friend, out of politeness.

"Yeah. I might have to find something different now; muggle books are actually very good!"

Hannah nodded out of approval, glancing at the clock before informing Ginny she needed to finish some Charms homework before tomorrow.

Looking up, Ginny saw Tom Riddle in a similar position, sat alone on the other side of the room with his head in a book with a black velvet cover. His legs were placed out on the floor, his feet crossed casually, his face looking bored at whatever he was reading as he turned page after page. _He's quite untolerable, _Ginny thought. At that moment, he looked up nonchalantly, making cool eye contact with our dear heroine.

"Slughorn wants to talk to you in his office, Conwy. I forgot to mention it earlier."

"Oh," Ginny sighed. "Perhaps you'd tell me where it is?"

"No need, Ginerva, I'll escort you there myself."

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_**Pathetic. He won't kill you.**_

_He tried to._

The walk to Slughorn's office was deathly quiet, aside from Tom's strides on the stone flooring and Ginny's purposeful but mouse-volume steps. Riddle took the opportunity to study Ginny in depth. Her sunset hair was below her shoulders, held back with a barrette on one side. Her cheeks were adorned with a light dusting of freckles like cinnamon, with a thin mouth the colour of Hogwarts blossom. He couldn't deny the fact she was pretty, if not a lot shorter than he. It made him feel superior – and that he accepted that he liked. But something he didn't like was her mystery; were all interesting girls like that?

"Conwy, what are you hiding?" he paused, grabbing her shoulder so she faced him in the corridor.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," mumbled Tom.

"Sure," Ginny muttered.

A couple more minutes of walking in awkward silence lead the pair to Slughorn's office.

"I can find my way back on my own, Riddle," Ginny cut Tom off before he could say anything.

Gaining little more than a nod, Ginny knocked on Slughorn's door, entering after giving a last glance at _him._

"Hello, Professor," she smiled, confidently. "I heard you wanted a word?" jjjnbnnmj


End file.
